


May I Be Frank With You?

by MissMoochy



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Coming Out, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV Foggy Nelson, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Foggy gets drunk and Matt is nice enough to help him get ready for bed. Unfortunately, alcohol has a way of loosening Foggy's tongue, and he's soon spilling his guts about one of his embarrassing crushes. Matt seems strangely interested in learning more.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 86





	May I Be Frank With You?

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is mild dubcon because Foggy is drunk and Matt’s taking advantage of that — using Foggy’s inebriation to get him to say embarrassing stuff. But I like writing Matt as a jerk — it’s fun!

Foggy had never dared to dream that Matt would be a part of his life again. That ship had sailed. But apparently, he wasn’t through with Matt. Or Matt wasn’t through with him. Because they’ve been tentatively trying to repair their friendship over the past few months. There are a lot of things that went unsaid. But alcohol helps.

And now, the world seems a little smaller and safer. The streetlights glitter prettily and even the shadowy figures that pass him and Matt somehow seem darkly beautiful and full of intrigue—

“Full of _what?_ Foggy, you’re wasted!”

Mm. Matt sounds happy. That’s good. He’s always frowning these days. Foggy wishes it was like college, when a problem could be solved with drinking and a cheesy movie. At least Matt isn’t planning to go patrolling tonight.

“Not wasted. ‘m happy.”

“Yeah, sure,” Matt says. Foggy starts to list to the side and Matt tightens his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “You were knocking back shots like you think you’re headed to the gallows tomorrow.”

“I was having fun! You should — you need to have fun, Matty. All work and no play makes Matt a dull boy…”

“No, it makes Matt gainfully employed. You shouldn’t hit it so hard, you’re gonna spend the whole weekend recovering. We’re not nineteen, anymore.”

“Ugh, you’re such a _mom._ ”

“Yeah, and I’m putting you to bed. Look, we’re home. Give me your key,”

Foggy blinks, taking in the sight of his apartment door. The image seems to undulate before his eyes, like a wrapper floating in a puddle. “Wow, that was fast. Did we fly? Can you fly, Daredev—”

“Shhhh!” Matt’s palm clamps down on Foggy’s mouth. He licks it, just to gross Matt out. “Foggy, what—ugh, never mind. Come on. Inside.”

Foggy trips on the way in, and Matt catches him with barely a sigh of frustration. What a good friend, Foggy feels lucky to have him. They make their way back to his bedroom, moving awkwardly, a one-legged race of a stumbling drunk and his blind, exasperated friend.

“Hey, Matty?”

“Hm?”

“The blind leading the blond.”

“Heh.”

Finally, Foggy is able to throw himself back on his bed and whoops, that feels nice. He hadn’t realised how much he needed a rest. His legs are trembling like jello, and fatigue is buffeting against his skin like an insistent breeze. He lolls over, his face sinking into the pillow and Matt pokes him in the chest.

“Wake up. I gotta get you undressed and get some water in you.”

The bar had been busy tonight. Josie barely gave them more than a nod, she had her work cut out for her. Foggy thinks back to the punters. One guy had let Foggy go ahead of him, when they were lining up at the bar for drinks. He’d been tall, built like an ox with closely-cropped hair. Kind of reminded him of somebody that they used to know.

So, that’s why Frank Castle pops into his head.

“Hey, Matt? Do you remember Castle? That Frank Castle?” Foggy mumbles.

“I remember him,”

Matt is perched on the end of the bed and he pulls Foggy’s feet onto his lap.

“Kinda hard to forget, huh? Man, I hated that guy.”

“He was…difficult.” Matt agreed, wrestling with the knots in Foggy’s shoelaces.

“Big, dumb jerk. Stupid Easter Island head. Fathead.”

Matt laughs softly to himself. “Didn’t know you had such strong feelings about him. Why all this talk of Castle?”

“I saw a guy who looked a bit like him today. Wasn’t him. Didn’t have the big ears,”

Matt tuts. “I didn’t know he had big ears,”

“Donkey ears and a big, ol’ hero jaw.”

Matt cocks his head. “What’s a hero jaw?”

Foggy tries to use his hands to sculpt the shape in the air but his fingers won’t bend right. “You know. Like a big thing. Big old jaw. Manly jaw.”

“Hmm.”

Rem’ber when he was in court? What I said about him?”

Matt makes a considering sound, thinking so hard that Foggy can almost hear his brain whirring. “You said he wasn’t wearing a tie? You said he looked better without a tie than you’ve ever looked…”

“God, yeah. Fucking, stupid Castle. Stupid jaw. Anyway, this guy. The Castle-lookin’ guy. He passed me in Josie’s earlier tonight. He had an ass, Matty, oh my God, his ass…”

“You were…checking out his ass?” Matt splutters.

Foggy feels the need to reassure him that he hadn’t been overt in his appreciation. The last thing they need is to get barred from Josie’s for indecency…or something. “Discreetly, Matty. I’m very discreet…”

“Of, of course. Yeah. So, this guy, you, uh, you liked him?”

“Mm. Big guy, big muscles. Coulda done a lot to me, wouldn’t stop him.”

“…Why didn’t you ask to buy him a drink?”

“I don’t think he was on my team, dude,”

“And what team is that?”

“Uh…bisexual, I guess?” Foggy says, screwing up his face. It feels like an admission of guilt, which is ridiculous. This is Matt, he’s kind, understanding. He would _never_ judge him. He was pretty cool. For a Catholic.

“You never said. You never told me.”

“Mm…”

“No, but—” Matt yanks the left shoe off and Foggy yelps, feeling a quick tug of pain in his ankle. It instantly abates but Matt is _so_ apologetic, rubbing Foggy’s ankle and stumbling on a guilty ‘sorry’. “—you never said. That you were…that you liked _men._ ”

Foggy shrugs, using his whole body to do it. “Not all men.”

Matt falls quiet for several minutes, still battling about eight different knots in the other shoe, until he eventually gives up and works it off Foggy’s foot. When he finally speaks, his voice is hushed.

“What sort of men?”

But Foggy is softly snoring.

* * *

“Why are you attracted to Castle?”

Foggy blinks, raises his head just a fraction but that heavy muzziness is still there, a fluffed-up mushiness residing in his skull. The room still flickers with a blurry vignette, and the lamplight blips in and out, sparkling in his peripheral vision.

There’s something being waved around in his face, a plastic bottle and he vaguely recognises the brand of bottled water, pilfered from his refrigerator. Matt is trying to guide the bottle to Foggy’s lips but his coordination isn’t great when he’s been drinking. Foggy realises they must both look ridiculous right now and he dizzily giggles.

“Jeez, Matt. What time izzit?”

“Midnight. Come on, you have to drink. Why are you attracted to Castle?”

Matt jabs him with the lip of the bottle again. A bead of cool water spills onto Foggy’s lips and he licks it into his mouth. “Why am I what?”

“Castle,” Matt says, bothering him once more. “Castle. Why Castle?”

Foggy opens his mouth wide and Matt nudges the lip of the bottle inside. It’s hard to swallow, he keeps slopping water down his chest but he manages to get a few mouthfuls. His mouth feels sticky and filmy, like it’s stuffed with cotton candy. The cold water is delicious, a refreshing numbness that floods his parched mouth. He sighs.

“I dunno. He’s big. And hot. Karen, she and he…I think they—”

“We’re not talking about Karen, man. We’re talking about you. Why do you like Castle?”

Foggy doesn’t really have an answer to that, so he helpfully sticks out his tongue for more water. Matt gives him another drop.

“What would you do to him? If you had him?”

Poor, bewildered Foggy blinks up at him.

“Huh?”

“If Castle was right here—” Matt says huskily. “And he wanted you, what would you do?”

Foggy reflects on that. What would he do? His mind flashed with images…Castle’s dark eyes…his stupidly badass muscles…that jaw…

“I…I don’t, I don’t know…?”

“Would you bend over for him?” Matt persists. His hand, the one not holding the bottle, is snagged in Foggy’s shirt, gripping it just a bit too tight. Foggy squirms. “Would you use your mouth on him?”

“Uh…” But now that Matt mentions it, Foggy can’t get those images out of his head. Frank Fuckin’ Castle, that bastard was built like a brick outhouse, all hard muscle and even harder eyes. A flat, dark gaze like tunnels leading straight to the centre of the earth. His eyes lacked the depth and rich colour of Matt’s eyes. Castle would be rough. It would _hurt._

“I’d ride that stupid fuckin’ face of his,” he slurs, and Matt spills water all over his mouth. Foggy opens wide, tries to catch a few drops. This would probably be easier if his eyes were open, but his nightstand lamp is still switched on and the light pries at his vision.

“Stick your cock in his lips? Or make him put his tongue up inside you?”

Foggy hums in agreement. He’s not sure what he’s agreeing to, but Matt is painting a rather vivid painting in his head. His dick twitches with interest but his arms are leaden weights, pinned to his side. He makes no effort to touch himself. He…he couldn’t. Matt’s _right there_ …

“You’d straddle him, wouldn’t you, and your skin would feel so hot and heavy on his face and he wouldn’t be able to breathe without his lips touching you. Every breath would taste of you, smell of you…”

“Yeah…”

“You’d be pushy, I know you…” Matt tells him and there’s possibly a touch of pride in his voice. “You take what you want. Don’t suffer fools gladly. You’d lose patience with him, wouldn’t you?”

“Dumb vigilante,” Foggy mutters. He’s not disagreeing.

“Stupid vigilante,” Matt agrees. “He’d have to put his mouth to good use, you only want him for his mouth, don’t you? And you’d want him to do it right. You’d wriggle your hips, make him fuck you with his tongue and he’d hold you, put his hands on your legs…”

“His fingers…” Foggy says and he’s thinking of those big, square hands with heavy knuckles and blunt nails. Hands that curl into fists so easily. Hands that have snapped bones and left flowering bruises spreading across flesh…

“His fingers, digging in…” Matt whispers and Foggy can feel it, a phantom spark of pain in his thigh and he cranes his neck, forcing his bleary eyes to look and yes, there is Matt’s hand, pale in the light. Those long, elegant fingers clutching Foggy’s pants leg.

Foggy lets his head thump back on the pillow and his dazed eyes skim over the cracks in the ceiling. Matt’s hand still rests heavily on his leg, heat bleeding through the thin material and he can’t help but wonder if Matt feels hot all over.

He’s always wondered what it would be like to touch Matt, to really feel him. Walk his hands up and down those sculpted arms, rub at Matt’s abs and cup his pecs, slip his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and slide them down. To know Matt’s body as intimately as he knows his own.

“Matt,” he manages and it feels like it takes every ounce of brainpower to form that word.

“Yeah,” Matt breathes, a hushed voice in Foggy’s ear. “Say my name. Not his.”

“Matt,” Foggy repeats and he smiles as his friend leans in and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. He basks in the warmth of affection, like a cat seeking a sunbeam and scrunches up his nose as rough stubble grazes his jaw.

“Goodnight, Foggy. Sweet dreams.”

“Night, Matty…” Foggy mumbles and is soon buried deep in a dreamless sleep.


End file.
